


Reunion in Ash

by Zonegypsy



Series: A Running Chain [2]
Category: Shadowrun
Genre: Ancients (Shadowrun), Elf vs Troll, Lone Star (Shadowrun), Magic Shadowrun Setting, Shadowrun Gangs, Spikes (Shadowrun)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:28:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28132437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zonegypsy/pseuds/Zonegypsy
Summary: Two acquaintances meet at a bar.
Series: A Running Chain [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060943
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	Reunion in Ash

Seattle May 22, 2077  
Tarislar- Puyallup Barrens

Deadbolt pulled up in front of The Hornet’s Nest, dusting the ash off his clothing. The broad shouldered elf leaned back on his bike, taking a moment to savor the mild weather. A clear day was rare enough in Seattle, rarer still in Puyallup. It was a good night to celebrate; his last run had paid well and with no strings attached. Adding his bike to the row of other street racers, he keept an eye for any rides that looked familiar. There were fewer elves sporting the green and black of the Ancients since he was last here. Given how nice the night was, he didn’t give it much mind. The others must have been off raising hell in other parts, attacking other gangs or the Yaks at will. 

Slowly he began to make his way to the door. The Hornet’s Nest was a converted warehouse; It was a watering hole for Tir Tairngire exiles. Known for its cheap drinks and loose staff. The Nest was neutral ground between the Ancients and Laesa, in the ongoing feud for control over the neighborhood. Deadbolt had thrown his lot in with the Ancients years ago and wanted to avoid getting drugged or stabbed tonight.The low bass vibrated from the nightclub, playing some hit song from last year. Even from outside Deadbolt could feel the beats resonate in his chest.

“Frag, didn’t think I’d ever see you back here,” a voice rang from behind, Deadbolt turned to see Pathfinder.

“Pathfinder,” the runner deadpanned, the mage was not the scrawny twig-like thing he last recalled. He had grown some actual muscle and now even sported a few scars. It surprised Deadbolt that the kid hadn’t moved on. As he recalled Path held his own with one of the Yak’s more potent spellslingers during his initiation.

“Never got that monotone thing worked out did you. Anyway, you’ve been gone a while,” Pathfinder then grinned; he had a full set of teeth, which said a lot for a native of Tarislar. Path had been of the lucky few who came into his magic at a young age. “I’d almost thought you got geeked this time.”

“No one’s tried hard enough,” Deadbolt said with a shrug, unsure how much he had owed his continued survival to skill or luck. 

“Join me for a drink,” Path continued motioning towards the door, “or do you got more secret Shadowrunner drek?” 

Deadbolt gave a nod and followed Path inside the club, the lighting was dim but his natural low light vision more than made up for it. 

“I didn’t see your bike,” Deadbolt said, raising his voice to be heard as they walked in. The two passed a large group of Ancients by the bar area. Deadbolt did not recognize any of the faces, most of them were younger elves. Path might have been the only Ancient that he knew since he last rode with the gang.

“Got a Mirage now,” Pathfinder shouted back, “the old Rapier wasn’t cutting it.”

“How long have you had it?” The runner said as they made their way to the back of the club, taking an empty booth. 

“Few months,” Path answered grinning like a mad man, “pinched her from the Star” 

“I heard about that, sure you’re in the clear?” Deadbolt said the word on the street was that one of the Lonestar garages got hit. The group that did it walked off with a few vehicles and left more than one officer incapacitated. The Star released no information other than they were on the lookout for an unregistered mage. 

“The Star can’t do drek,” Path snorted, “Brackhaven cut their balls off, fraggers are just parking maids now!”

The runner was about to respond when an elven woman dressed in shades of green and black came up to the table. She wore an outfit that left little to the imagination and gave a smile through her black-painted lips.

“Back again so soon,” she said before gesturing towards Deadbolt, “who's your friend Pathfinder?”

“That’s Deadbolt, we go way back”, Path replied leaning back, to which the runner nodded, “he’s not very big on talking.”

“Shame, what will you have tonight?”

Path bought the first round of drinks after ribbing Deadbolt for his lack of social graces. The booze was nothing more than a cheap synthehol either imported or smuggled out of the Tir. Given both Ancients and Laesa frequented this establishment, it was most likely the latter. 

Deadbolt took a sip of his drink placing the glass near the edge of the table. As he moved his hand suddenly jerked and hit the glass, knocking it from the table. With a smooth motion Deadbolt reached for the glass and snacted it midair. He placed the glass back onto the table, not a drop was spilled. 

“Don’t they make something for that drek?” Pathfinder said he had long since gotten used to Deadbolt’s sudden spasms. The runner was more chrome than flesh, sure he looked normal enough to a mundane person but on the astral his aura was a shredded mess.

Deadbolt merely shrugged then twitched a few more times before his episode was over. Pathfinder sighed hoping that none of his potential dates looked over this way.

“Anyway, how have you been?” Path asked words becoming more flowing as he switched into Sperethiel. It had been some time since the runner had heard spoken elvish; it had been longer still that he had visited this area of Puyallup. 

“Good, your Sperethiel has gotten better.” Deadbolt remarked, the faintest spark of feeling returning to him as he was reminded of his homeland. A bittersweet mix of nostalgia and melancholy. However, it vanished as soon as it came, ever after having his ware for so many years the color of life had remained muted.

“It is only right that I learn to speak our language,” Pathfinder said, his face becoming bitter, “why speak some ape’s language?” 

“You almost sound Tir born,” the runner said, doing a double-take, Path was not known for his flowing words. However that was almost eloquent, the ganger could pass for someone of gentry rank.

“I have had the time to…” Path faltered for a moment looking for the right tonation for the word, “Study. I still have much to learn.” 

“You’ve come far,” Deadbolt said, as he took another sip of his drink, “It is good to be with elves once more,”

“You know we can use an extra…” Path started but was cut off.

The front door was kicked in; the body of one of the Ancients from outside skidded crossed the floor, a barely recognizable pulp of blood and broken bones. A number of orcs followed spraying the front of the club in a hail of gunfire. Deadbolt drew his Predator V and pulled Path into cover, he didn’t see any clear marking on any of the unkempt orcs. 

The Ancients that had been drinking were caught unaware, only a few had fallen to the barrage. The elves began to return fire. The bullets tore into the attacking orcs but had little effect on the drug addled gangers. A horrible screeching was heard from the front of the club, as the sheet metal was ripped off the building. A massive troll with sleek black horns tore his way into the club. The Troll swatted the lighting fixtures with a spiked mace made of solid black metal. The troll colors’s Deadbolt instantly recognized as the black and browns of the Spikes. 

“Fragging Spikes initiates,” Path spat, the air around him crackled with energy and his eyes burned bright. 

Deadbolt took aim and fired, the sound of the heavy pistol reverberated loudly even over the screams and chaos. The round hit the attacker in the shoulder staggering him back, throwing off his aim. The orc returned fire but misjudged the elf’s speed, peppering the area where he had just been. Pathfinder began to chant words of power, pulling on magic energies and forming an orb of crackling lightning. With a flick of his wrist, he sent out the orb, discharging in the center of the orcs.

The smell of ozone was thick in the air, the attackers twitched now and then but remained on their feet. The magical energies having washed over the massive troll. The troll hefted the two-handed club with ease upholding it in one hand.

“Finish the job, I’ll deal with the mage.”The troll said as he stalked his way over towards Pathfinder. The weight of both his weapon and armor kept him from otherwise charging the elf like a runaway freight train. 

Pathfinder slung another spell at the approaching mountain of muscle, a glob of sickly green substance found its mark on the troll’s thick armor. The attacker hardly flinched as he continued his slow march. The glob hissed with smoke and sizzled as the area of armor began to melt away. With a grunt the troll brushed off the glob, it fell to the floor still smoking before dissipating.

Deadbolt fired at the troll; but the rounds sparked off the armor, the troll didn’t so much as shrug. He tried to move around to get a shot on the opening Path had created, but only succeeded in drawing fire from the Spike hopefuls. He returned fire ducking behind a ruined booth to reload. His Smart system flashed warning him about low ammo levels, he cycled to APDS. Popping up from cover he took aim and fired; hitting center mass on an orc dropping him.

When shooting failed to eliminate the fast elf the orcs changed tactics. A particularly gnarled tusked orc broke off from the pack, charging Deadbolt hollowing poorly spoken Or’zet. Deadbolt turned to but could not evade the charge being pin down by sprays of gunfire. 

The runner was knocked off his feet; but managed to dodge a knife. The Spike’s orc switched the grip on his blade to slash out at Deadbolt. The runner let go of his pistol then grabbed the orc by the wrist redirecting the knife. The added momentum allowed Deadbolt to roll both himself and the orc. Deadbolt had the orc pinned under him; one hand trying to wrestle control of the blade, his free arm braced on the orc’s neck. The orc socked Deadbolt in the face, with each punch the runner’s vision spun. With one last punch, the orc sent Deadbolt sprawling.

Holding his throat the orc picked himself up and spat on the ground. He lumbered towards Deadbolt, picking the runner up by the front of his jacket. With a nasty sneer, the orc head-butted Deadbolt, then tossed him into the ruined wreckage of a table. The runner’s vision cleared briefly, as he turned his head he found himself face to face with death. One of the Ancients had been unlucky and had caught a bullet between the eyes, the dead elf clutched a half drawn sword. 

“I’m gonna enjoy killing you,” the Spike said as Deadbolt reached for the sword, prying the weapon from the corpse’s hands, the orc didn’t realize until it was too late. Deadbolt slashed out with the blade cutting a deep gash into the orc’s throat. Blood sprayed forath the orc gargled blood collapsing to the ground. Deadbolt patted the orc down, taking a Steyr TMP and a few magazines of ammunition. 

Pathfinder was now backed into a wall, there were a few acid holes in the troll’s armor but he was otherwise unharmed. In fact, Path looked more haggard than his troll opponent, spell after spell splashed onto the troll having done little or nothing to him. At this range, Pathfinder could feel the troll’s aura shift and alter itself to each of his spells. Path dodged to the side avoiding the massive spiked club as it came down crushing a table to splinters. The attack was much slower than the Ancient feared, although that was only slight relief. The troll was without a doubt awakened to some capacity and was skilled with counterspelling.

Suddenly the troll shifted his stance, raming the massive club into Path’s gut. Pathfinder doubled over vomiting, he was fortunate to have not caught the spiked part of the club in his stomach. Path slumped to the ground in a heap; the troll picked him up like a rag doll one hand wrapping around the elf’s chest. Pathfinder struggled but the more he tried to free himself from the troll’s grasp the more nauseous he became. Fighting the ever-growing urge to once again empty the contents of his stomach, Pathfinder worked his hands under one troll’s massive fingers. 

The troll began to crush the Ancient, building up the pressure. Pathfinder knew he was going to die, he could feel his ribs starting to bow. Still, if he was going to die, then at least he would give this fragger something to remember him by. Path pulled once again on the latent magical energies, his injuries burned as mana pulsed through the natural ley lines of his body. Through pained breaths he uttered words of power, his hands burning with a pale green flame. The troll’s aura once again shifted, but this time Path channeled more mana causing the green flames to grow stronger and brighter.

Pathfinder’s spell shattered the magic barrier around the troll, green fire engulfed the troll’s face. The troll howled, throwing Path to the ground with such force that he bounced. The troll brought up his massive hand to his face, the skin sloughed off exposing the bone and muscle. With a crank of his neck, the troll turned to Pathfinder; he was on the ground curled up on his side. The troll hefted the club up once again stalking over to the ever defiant elf. He forced Pathfinder on his back with a foot, holding the club up high he readied himself to bring the weapon down on elf’s head.

Deadbolt watched as the troll loomed over his friend, he raced forward leaping into the air. The sword stabbed into the troll’s back just under the shoulder blade, going deep into the muscle. The troll dropped his behemoth sized weapon to the ground, howling in rage and pain as he tried to shake off Deadbolt. The runner was losing his grip on the sword, he tried to reach for the Steyr but it was thrown out of his reach. After more struggling the troll got a hold of Deadbolt, holding the elf by the back of his armored jacket.

Pathfinder lay on his side, all the veins in his body burned in pure agony. He barely registered being turned onto his back; he looked up to meet his executioner’s gaze with a grin. He was proud of the horrific burns he had left, that troll would never forget just who did that to him. He suppressed a shudder of fear as he watched the troll bring the weapon above his head. Pathfinder snapped his eyes shut, it would be over soon. However, no spiked weapon came down to crush his skull.

Pathfinder opened his eyes to see Deadbolt latched on to the back of the troll. The Ancient struggled back onto his feet, ‘Frag’ was the one word that kept repeating in his head. He watched the troll attempt to grasp Deadbolt, but the runner shifted the other way narrowly clearing the troll’s hand. Frag, Pathfinder began to channel magical energies, still, he sensed the shifting magic around the troll. Frag he didn’t have it in him to pull on the magics needed to shatter the shield. 

Pathfinder watched as Deadbolt and the troll struggled on, the runner was trying to reach for something but it was thrown off. A machine pistol clattered to the floor at the troll’s feet, without hesitation Path ran towards the gun. Sliding across the floor he scooped up the weapon just as the troll seized Deadbolt. A surge of adrenaline pumped through Pathfinder’s body as he switched the Steyr to full auto and pulled the trigger.

A steady stream of bullets tore into the troll’s body, the troll stumbled back and dropped Deadbolt to the ground. The runner landed on his feet pulling his blade out from the troll’s back. The troll was bleeding, dark eyes bulging out of his head; his breathing became shallow as he sank to a knee. The troll coughed up blood before he snarled and lunged forward. However, Deadbolt moved in front of the troll blocking the way. The runner thrusted out with the sword impaling the troll in the chest, just as Pathfinder moved around to shoot off a few last rounds into the troll’s face. At last, the troll toppled over falling to his side, and the room became silent. 

The two elves dove behind the dead troll for cover as gunfire sprayed around them. Deadbolt hissed in pain as one of the rounds clipped his left ear, shearing it off at the tip. Blood covered his neck and shoulder on that side. He held his damaged ear with one hand, bullets still whizzing over their heads. 

“Te’ch,” Pathfinder exclaimed once he got sight of Deadbolts injuries. The right side of Path’s face was grazed, but he was otherwise unharmed. Path reached out towards Deadbolt, chanting as he channeled magics. Pathfinder’s brow furrowed as he tried to direct the magic into the proper ley lines in Deadbolt’s body, chrome blocked most of the pathways. The runner pulled his hand from his damaged ear, the bleeding had stopped.

“You good,” Path asked, rubbing his cut with the back of his hand, a fresh torrent of gunfire sprayed overhead.

“Yes,” Deadbolt said, handing Pathfinder the ammo he had gotten earlier.

“Don’t tell me that you’re getting too old for this,” Path said.

“I’m sure the next troll you fight you can put down yourself,” Deadbolt said.

Pathfinder reloaded the gun grumbling, before blind firing over the side of the dead troll. Deadbolt took the distraction as a chance to dart to an overturned table, a trail of bullets following on his heels. The rounds punch through the thin synth wood table but lost enough force to no longer be lethal. A grunt of pain followed another retort of gunfire from Pathfinder. Hazarding a chance the runner poked out to get a better view. 

One of the orcs was on the ground, holding an injured leg. The other two with him were trying to pull him back towards the door. No fight remained in the orcs, now they were trying to retreat. Deadbolt gripped his sword tighter, charging forward. They had made a horrendous mistake attacking him tonight. One of the unharmed orcs broke away from his wounded teammate meeting Deadbolt in melee. The orc’s baton deflected off the runner’s blade with sparks. Deadbolt moved back returning to a mid guard position.

Pathfinder popped up from cover, he saw the two remaining orcs were trying to limp out the door. Path gave a wicked smile, aiming the Steyr at the ceiling above the retreating orcs. The bullets blasted away the supports for a lighting truss, causing the equipment to come crashing down. The orcs were now trapped under the metal and electrical equipment, Pathfinder started to chant words of power. The Ancient summoned a ball of electricity, spinning the energies in the palm of his hand. With a last arcane gesture, the ball spun out of his hand, hitting the truss dead center. Electricity arced around the truss making the lights flicker then explode. The orcs trapped beneath spasmed and twitched, smoke rising from their bodies.

Deadbolt took a more aggressive stance, holding his blade aloft in a high guard. He had speed and reach, however his opponent had enough power and mass to make up for his shortcomings. The runner taunted the orc, leaving himself open. The orc took the bait and advanced, overextending himself. Deadbolt waited until the orc had committed to the attack, before sidestepping at the same time he brought his blade down. The sword cut into the orc’s head like deli meat, the orc collapsed without so much as a twitch.

Pathfinder walked up to the bodies of the electrocuted orcs, putting a round in each of their heads. Deadbolt pulled his sword out of the orc’s head wiping the gore off on the dead orc’s jacket. The runner then went back to retrieve his heavy pistol and the sheath for the sword. The attackers were dead but the devastation had already been dealt. At least twice as many elves lay dead.

A woman cried into the side of her dead mate, her shrill cries carried over the club. Other survivors began to come out of cover, Deadbolt noted most of the casualties were not elves sporting green or black. 

“Fragging Spikes,” Path growled an arm around his chest, his adrenaline surge had faded. Pathfinder stubbled towards the door, it hurt him to breathe. 

“We need to go,” Deadbolt said, on cue a wail of sirens could be heard in the distance, “Can you ride?”

“I’ll manage,” Pathfinder said, forcing himself to move.

Path and Deadbolt hurried outside, ash was once again raining from the skies. The ash did little to cover the carnage, bodies lay in the street; most had their heads or chests caved in. Another two orcs lay among the dead elves. Pathfinder stood still, rage burning in his chest as he took in the scene.

“We need to move Path,” the runner said, “KE is coming.” 

Pathfinder followed suit and mounted his ride, cringing in pain as he sat down. He dusted the ash from his console and fired up his engine. The two kicked their bikes into gear taking the tight winding alleys. On the main roads, Knight Errant was out in force; several Ares made vehicles flew past kicking up ash. The two elves darted into an alley, they killed the lights and threw jackets over the more reflective parts of their bikes.

“Didn’t think KE gave a drek about elves outside of downtown,” Path moaned after several minutes. He sat on the ground and rested his head on the wall of the alleyway. 

Deadbolt shrugged, once the last of the sirens died down they would make their move. The runner glanced over at Pathfinder, wordlessly he retrieved his medkit from his bike’s saddlebag. He knelt down next to Pathfinder and prepped the medkit.

“Not on the first date,” Path said with a grin as the runner tugged off his shirt to apply sensors to his neck and chest.

“Don’t make me smack you,” Deadbolt said with a roll of his eyes, however, Path didn’t struggle as he finished setting up the kit.

The runner followed the kit to the best of his ability, applying antiseptic spray and bandaged Path’s chest. The kit showed possible rib fractures, Path needed a doctor. Most of the runner’s contacts within this part of Seattle had dried up. He knew that Deireadh An Tuarthell would take in Path, but the hospital was on the other side of Tarislar. The kit told him that they had some time, giving Deadbolt a chance to plan out their next move.

“Got any Nova,” Pathfinder asked as he pulled his shirt back on. He was all but spent, a dragon could land on his head and he would be blissfully unaware.

“Yeah, hold on.” Deadbolt said at this point he didn’t think a dose or two would hurt Path. He always kept some Novacoke on hand, but rarely indulged. He found it was useful for bartering information in the barrens. He headed over to his bike and rooted around his jacket for a moment.

Deadbolt tossed a small bag over to Path, it landed somewhere at the Ancient’s feet. Pathfinder picked up the bag and did a quick bump of Nova. Then suddenly the alleyway became flooded with light and Path froze. 

“Lone Star, freeze!” a voice boomed, a full team of armed law enforcement bore down on them. Deadbolt glared at Pathfinder as he raised his arms above his head. There were just too many officers to fight and the cops had already blocked off any escape. Pathfinder sat dumbfoundead before raising his hands in surrender.


End file.
